Ma Belle Jacqueline
by Cookie VanDeKamp
Summary: A prequel. The story of Belle's mother. And yes, the title did come from Ma Belle Evangeline.


Belle, a beautiful, bright nine-year-old girl with a love of books, sat in the corner of the church where the funeral was being held. She hated all funerals— she'd been two before then— because of the sadness surrounding them, the fact that she was allergic to lilies, and this town, it was tradition to have them at funerals, and because the black dress she wore for them was a hand-me-down from her older cousin Marie, and was therefore too long for her. On top of everything else, the dress's cloth was scratchy and thick, making her itch and sweat, an awful combination.

But she hated this particular funeral even more than the previous ones, for one big reason.

The person in the coffin was Jacqueline, her mother.

OoOoO

Jacqueline had been a kind, caring mother, who shared Belle's intelligence. She had taught herself to read in her childhood by watching her three older brothers, and had taught Belle at a very young age. She had met Maurice, Belle's father, at a fair when she was fifteen (he had been nearly eighteen). Fascinated by the invention he was selling (an automatic window opener), she had struck up a conversation.

"Oh, that looks wonderful!" she said, walking up to the table.

The young man looked up. "Um, thank you."

"What is it?"

"A machine to open the window for you without you even getting up," he explained, still baffled. No one had ever shown any interest in his inventions before, much less beautiful women like this one.

"That would come in very useful," the woman said. "Can I buy one?"

"If you want to… Do you want to test it before you buy it?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay… see that window over there?" he asked, gesturing towards a shop across the way.

Jacqueline nodded.

"Now, if I did this right, when I press the button…"

He did so, and a hand popped out of the invention and zoomed towards the window.

"It's… it's actually working…" he said in disbelief. "My inventions _never_ work…"

"OUCH!" a man shouted.

They both looked up, and much to the young man's horror, the hand, instead of opening a window, and went right through the glass, and poked someone inside in the eye.

The woman stifled a giggle as Maurice blushed.

"I… I still have to work out… uh… a few… kinks…."

"Well, here." She pressed a few coins into his hand. "So you can buy more supplies," she explained. "Good day."

She began to walk off, but she heard him call, "Wait!" She turned around.

"What's your name?"

"…Jacqueline," she said, after a moment's pause. "I live in the village down the hill. How about you?"

"I'm Maurice. I live in that shack over there."

"It was nice meeting you, Maurice."

"Same to you, Jacqueline."

She smiled and turned around again, but before he even knew what he was doing, he was turning her around by the shoulder. "Will I see you again?"

"Tomorrow? Noon? By the fountain?" she suggested.

"Okay. I'll see you there."

As she walked down the hill, Maurice watched her, too entranced to notice the man his machine had poked in the eye yelling at him.

They were married before her sixteenth birthday.

OoOoO

Then Belle came into the picture. Her hazel eyes sparkled, just like Jacqueline's, and her hair was a deep chestnut, like her grandmother Monique's had been in her youth. From the day she was born, Belle was close to her mother and father, spending much more time with them than other girls in town spent with their parents. Maurice and Jacqueline adored the child. They gave her all the books, love, and happiness her heart desired, and in turn, she was the best daughter anyone could hope for. Despite having every reason to be vain and full of herself, Belle grew up a kind, sensitive, loving girl.

But, her parents worried. How could their little daughter grow up properly when she never talked to any of the other children? She spent all her time with them or with the local bookkeeper, who loved her almost as much as her parents. The couple tried and tried to make her interact with people her own age, but Belle refused.

"May I come in?" Jacqueline asked, sticking her head in her daughter's room. The child nodded without looking up from her book. The woman sat down next to her. "Is that a good book?"

She looked up then. Belle smiled widely, holding up the book to show her mother the illustrations. "Oh, Mama, it's better than good! It's amazing! It's about a girl named Ella who has this mean stepfamily and they call her 'Cinderella' and make her do all the work and—"

Jacqueline shook her head. "If only you talked this much around other children."

"They don't like me," she said, looking down. "They think I'm dull and boring— and just because I like books! They think that books are stupid!"

"Well, maybe it's up to you to prove them wrong."

"Oh, I try! But whenever I try to tell them about the book I'm reading—"

"No, no," she said gently, "I don't mean about the books. I mean about you. Show them that you're _not _dull and boring like they think you are. Why don't you go outside and play with them?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Darling, you must be very lonely, up here with no friends to talk to…" she began.

"Oh, but I do have friends!" Belle insisted. "I have lots of them!"

"Really?"

"Yes! There's Ella and Jack and Sleeping Beauty and the Goose Girl and the Little Mermaid and Rapunzel—"

Jacqueline shook her head and walked out.

"—and Snow White and Ali Baba—"

Belle hadn't even noticed.

OoOoO

Belle snuck down the stairs in her nightdress, listening to her parents talk. Although Mama had always taught her that it wasn't good to listen to other people's secret conversations, sometimes the temptation was too hard to resist.

"…worried about her, Maurice," her mother's voice said. "She never does anything but sit up there, all cooped up in her room with her books… I've never seen her once talk to another person her age. No one could ever be happy like that…"

"She seems happy enough to me," said her father. "You know our little Belle— she's not like the other girls. She's got a good head on her shoulders. We're lucky for having such a smart girl."

"I know that, really, I do. Intelligence is important— but so is growing up right!"

"Define 'right'."

There was a pause.

"…touché," she admitted.

OoOoO

"Mama, do you think I'm… odd?"

The question came out of nowhere. Jacqueline put down the dishes she was washing to look at the eight-year-old Belle, who was sitting at the table, reading a new book.

"Odd?"

"Yes. Everyone says I am… the other children, their parents, the shopkeepers…"

Jacqueline thought. Belle _was_ different than the other girls. She was smart. She was witty. She loved to read. She didn't like playing or clothes or anything like that. She spent every day in her windowsill, reading the latest book (the bookkeeper liked her so much, he let her borrow the books before he let anyone else in the town know he even had them).

"No, dear. You're not odd at all."

OoOoO

And now, here she was, listening to her mother's funeral.

Belle buried her face in her father's shoulder. "Oh, Papa, what're we going to do?" she sniffled.

"We'll get through this… somehow…" he whispered, trying to appear stronger than he felt.

And neither father nor daughter noticed that a woman in a gown of pure white was looking at them through the window in the back of the church. Her red hair was shining, a halo glowed over it, and her wings were as gold as the sun.

"_Belle, Maurice… May your lives be as filled with joy and love as mine was. And remember… Mama loves you."_

And, with one last kiss blown to them, Jacqueline flew away from this life.


End file.
